


Lost Soul

by thatguy8801



Category: 20th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, No Fandom, World War One - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Other, Reflection, Suffering, Survival, Trench Warfare, War, World War I, major angst, major suffering, theres not really a fandom for this story, wwi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 11:05:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16891383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatguy8801/pseuds/thatguy8801
Summary: A fight for survival in a world far different than before.





	Lost Soul

**Author's Note:**

> And now for something absolutely and completely different. I am a huge WWI nerd and this was my attempt at a Remarque style writing and stream of conscious work. I cannot ever hope to imagine what these poor souls went through so I may never be able to communicate the horror that once was.

I remember some of the war. Frankly, I’m not proficient on the specifics nor am I good at explanation, but I do remember my own personal hell.

The date is hazy. I do believe it was the spring of 1917. What transpired is my most vivid memory to date, and one I will surely never forget.

The trenches were a nasty bit of business. We Brits do take immense pride in our neatness and order, but the trenches were different. This new innovation of warfare, gone were the time of swords and honour; gone were the days of pride in war. there was nothing more hellish than a trench. Many a times were we subjected to filth and such poor conditions, I remember that well. Much of one’s own dead and decaying comrades were scattered, whole and in pieces, all over the trenches. Such conditioning made it a prime hot spot for the rats. Those damned rats, never have I seen a beast so large; the naked tails were often as long as the average house rat back home, they have grown twice or even three times their usual size, and so has their boldness. Twice have I seen a beastly rat run next to my cot with a human arm hanging from its jaws. I filled with horror and nearly screamed trying to hit the damned thing with my spade, sending it off to go decimate another untold number of our fallen. It often made me sick, my friends, comrades, brothers in arms were in pieces and dead, yet here I was still living and enduring. Every lifeless face I saw sent pangs of guilt through my being. Why should these poor lads die and I still live? What have I done to keep moving when they are the souls who risked their lives for country?

Artillery was the worse. More often than not, we’d sleep in the open air rather than bunkers to stay safe from the artillery. It was not uncommon to be woken up from the report of an instantaneous fuse, or the loud explosion of a heavy shell. For the first week or two, I couldn’t sleep for fear of being hit. Whistles and explosions rocked my ears often, they stained my mind, forever permanent and inching closer to me. I was in a constant state of dread, heart racing and eyes shrewd and watchful, each exploding making me jumps and grip my rifle. I was going mad. I would not die from any bullet or shell, it would be from my own mental deterioration. Yet I soon found hope. Our Lieutenant thought us what each shell type there was, different shells made different explosions and thus had different uses. We were able to distinguish each blast, each sound of report, from one another. The lives of a soldier were very simple, it kept us sane and sharp, and it prepared us for the front.

The front was always a blur in our daily work, we knew we would be sent up soon. And when the day arrived, the sullen clouds laid out the atmosphere of the day. The landscape set the tone as well. Much of the once luscious, green pasture had turned into a more hole filled experience. Shell holes littered the area, at least one for each man of our company, numbering 150 strong.

When the day of the front arrived, the sound of battle grew louder and more apparent. I gripped my rifle as we marched toward the trench line, what happened next, we knew it.

Reaching the communication trenches, shell fire was upon us like the devil. We were separated out, lining the trenches of our

defence.

Those ghastly trenches, one should never see such a sight. It had rained often in our sector, puddles lined the ground in all sorts of places. The smell, rotting flesh combined with the swampy ground made matters worse. Rubble littered the area, pieces of wood, containers, shrapnel, flesh, and more. Bodies of our fallen comrades lay as well, slowly medics tried to carry them out on stretchers, but the shelling was much too heavy for loads of work to be done. The rats would get to them first.

Our sergeant told us to make do and line up. We expecting an attack. At 13:00, the Germans were expected to lay down heavy shelling on a creeping barrage, then charge right into us. We were ordered to fix bayonets, and then line the trenches.

In the brief minute before chaos, I caught sight of the environment but observed so little, it was when I went back that I truly saw the landscape for what it really was.. Such lifelessness, never has the colour grey been so apparent in a landscape. There was no foliage, no grass, only the scattered few trunks of long dead trees make themselves known. The corpses of tanks lie haphazardly, showing the useless struggle and meaningless plight to an objective lost far too quickly. It was a marshland out in No Mans Land. So many puddles. It was like quicksand and trapped unsuspecting soldiers caught in its snare. I found two bodies, completely covered in mud that I could not tell who or what army they belonged to, that showed the dangers of this land. Not a soul of any living thing lay in sight. The land was decimated, destined to harbour life no more. It was such a pity, the potential for life was tossed out and put to waste.

The soft sound of whistle roused us all into attentiveness. We began to get jittery, anxious even. We knew what was coming. We knew what lay ahead, the shouts, the screams, the sloshing of boots on the mud grows louder with each passing minute. And then dread set in. Whistles in the air, a loud explosion to my right, a man sent through the air never to live again. The shelling had shattered our trench, our saviour from the choas was flattened into craters in a matter of minutes. With our protection gone, panic ensued. Cracks! Explosions! I was disoriented! Which way was the enemy? Which way was our lads? I could not tell. My mind was blank, drowned in the swarming sounds of booms and cracks. Another explosion sounded to my left, faint screaming of the men sent me down to the ground, a spray of blood splashed on my coat, the ground, and those nearby. I was sick, I couldn’t move, my breathing was uncontrollable; tears welded in my eyes as i saw the man in front of me shot straight through the head, he collapsed with lifeless and forever staring eyes that would see no more. Why?

I couldn’t take it, I simply couldn’t. I began to crawl towards the familiar crowd of men. I would never make it. I got up to start running, but soon a man smashed into my side and hurled me to the ground screaming, “GET DOWN!!” And just a mere few meters from where i would have been, the ground rippled and crashed! Horrific screams and shouts erupted from nearby, and then quickly died away. The earth flew to the sky, showering anything nearby in dust, dirt, and pieces of human all large and small. A crescendo of sound slammed into my ears, ringing, ringing. Never have I heard such noise! So many cracks, booms, whistles! Every sound sent fear through my body, the sound of death was everywhere and there was no escape. The dogs of hell have surely come for us on this day, they howl constantly, always threatening to drop onto us and send us to their home. Oh hell! Oh hell!

Man after man, unloaded what they could into our advancing adversaries, rifles cracked and screeched in a fury of splendour. Machine guns barked to life around us. I witnessed the entire charging Jerry front column cut to shreds, they fell to the ground in a matter of seconds, lifeless and soon forgotten by those behind them, pushing on. It was life or death, animalistic instinct took over. It mattered not about the sake of country; one did not fight for honour, one fought to stay alive. God help us all.

“STAY FAST, LADS! THE LINE MUST BE HELD!“

I lifted my head from the ground, cautiously looking for any Huns and any place to get a chance to rest. No more, no more. Bullets fly by our heads, narrowly missing our skulls. Others were not so lucky. Cracks of those unfortunate lads skulls were loud, blood sprayed from their wounds as choked gurgles and desperate pleas where screeched, and the soft sound of their bodies collapsing in the ground signaled their demise. Silence. Then more! Blood curdling screams were always around, hips were smashed, limbs severed, and the sounds of hell were prominent in the field. The ground had become littered with humanity, remnants of helmets, arms, legs, skulls, and more soon became the top layer of the soil.

Death itself has come for us.

A whistle over head signaled shells.

“ARTILLERY!“

"GET DOWN!”

I threw myself into a nearby shell hole. Screams sounded from behind my position, some poor lads were hit.

More whistles soared and more explosions sounded, my heart was racing, fear has almost enveloped my whole; I couldn’t breath and yet my breathing was quickly paced. Shells sounded all around me, debris fell on top of my body, covering me in a layer of filth and dirt. I felt something thump against my helmet, I looked up into the severed arm of a human. I screamed and tossed it out of the crater, I clutched my rifle and tears again began once more. Oh death! Oh death! Why must you torment us?

It was best to stay in the shell hole than to run for a bunker. A soldier’s fate is with chance. Very little will two shells be fired into the exact same spot. A man can lie in a shell hole in an open field for hours and walk unscathed, or he could be crushed under rubble and shrapnel in a bunker after a few minutes tops.

It’s the game of chance that keeps one alive, and one must learn to keep his odds in his favour. And it seemed chance had a few tests for me as well.

A panicked voice shrieked up over the carnage,

“GAAS, GAAAAAAS! SETZEN SIE IHRE MASKEN AUF! RUNTER!! RUNTER!!”

"ARTILLERIEEEEEEE!!”

I was familiar with a small fraction of german after picking it up from the prisoners in my time as a sentry, yet everyone knew the first words.

Gas.

My heart fell, panic and dread quickly enveloped me. I need to act now. I hastily pulled my gas mask from my belt, my hands were shaking making it difficult to grab the straps of the mask to put it on. I had pulled off my helmet and slipped on my mask, fixing it to fit securely and making sure no opening was possible. As soon as I had finish latching it into place, I slipped on my helmet once more and there myself to the side of the crater as the soft tink of the gas canisters fell.

Gas was one of the most horrific in warfare. I later found that it did not do much in terms of physical damage, but the blow to morale was immense. The faded green vapours had a reputation of a killer. Those unfortunate souls who succumb to the gas end up choking, coughing nonstop to the point where the cough blood. Their lungs burn, as if their organs were alight inside their bodies. Slowly but surely, soldiers fall victim to these toxic fumes, painting the hell of what they’ve been through for others to listen with tensed shoulders and the green monster on their minds.

I couldn’t breath. It felt like hours sitting still, breathing hard from the excitement. I used up all the good air, stale breaths were recirculated into my mask, making my lungs choke and beg for relief. I could see my vision fade, I felt light headed.

I do not care of the war, I must breathe.

I crawled out of my shell hole and laid flat on the ground. It seemed he vapours have subsided up top and were settling in the craters. I ripped off my mask and inhaled, greedy breathes to relieve my lungs of the neglect they endured.

What is the use? I ask. Why are we enduring this? Is the carnage worth the cause? For godssake, what the hell am I doing here when so many others are dead?

But the reply is not relevant. I get nothing in return but the confusion and slaughter that I have just lived through.

I have a duty to uphold as a soldier. There are no breaks for a soldier, we must persevere on. When the company lieutenant ordered for a counter-offensive, I had thought that perhaps this would be the end, surely I will now die. I fear for my life, I fear for my family, my friends, comrades, loved ones, my-

But we are soldiers, we have fought for 3 years now. 

We have no fear left in us.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all


End file.
